


Foolish is the Heart

by IngridBeast



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because consent is my kink, Boys Kissing, Consensual, Consensual Sex, Consent ok?, Dense Michele, Emil doesn't deserve this shit, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Smut, Explicit Consent, First Time, Fluff, Gay Character, Homophobia, Hugging, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Sorry, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Martyr Complex, Neither does Michele, Slow Build, Slow Burn, What Have I Done, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-12-18 17:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11879031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IngridBeast/pseuds/IngridBeast
Summary: Having grown up in a society steeped with homophobia, Michele Crispino struggles to come to terms with falling in love for the first time. Meanwhile, Emil Nekola has a massive martyr complex, having been subjected to domestic abuse most of his life, and is hopelessly in love with Michele, but is convinced the Italian is way out of his league.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how long this will be, I just started writing and I don't know what I'm doing...

Michele blinked, rage slowly shifting to confusion as his grip on Emil’s shirt slacked. He had expected anger and escalation, or intimidated sputtering of excuses and apologies, but Emil had given him neither. Instead, the Czech just stood there, his body pressed up against the elevator wall, his expression despondent, sad, as if he was expecting Michele to beat him senseless and accepted that fate with heartbroken resignation. His right hand, now flat against Emil’s chest, could feel the thrum of a heart beating furiously, deceiving the blonde’s calm demeanor, and Michele’s mouth went dry as his own heart started racing. He became intensely aware of the faint scent of Emil’s cologne, the warmth of his breath, and panic washed over him as he felt the heated sensation of his cheeks flushing. _This can’t be happening!_

The elevator stopped with a ‘ding’ and Michele staggered backwards. His sister, who had stood frozen in horror, spurred to action and caught him from falling, steadying him. He watched as the confusion once his now took up residence in Emil’s face, and an uncertain, tentative smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, surprise and relief filling those big, blue eyes of his. _Those gorgeous, blue eyes… No! You can’t be thinking this!_  
  
The elevator doors opened, revealing the figures of Katsuki Yuuri and Lee Seung Gil waiting on the other side, and in his panic, Michele’s brain went into auto-pilot mode. He found himself shouting at Emil, rather unconvincingly.  
  
“If you want to date my sister, you’ll have to beat me first!” Again, the Czech looked surprised, but the tug at the corner of his mouth had grown into the hint of a smile, threatening the possibility that he saw through the charade, even if no one else did.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emil muttered, and his smile got a little wider, and more sheepish. Michele mentally kicked himself for finding it stupidly endearing and his frown grew deeper. Sala, seemed to read that as anger, and stepped in.

“Mickey, stop! We’re just going out for a bite,” she reprimanded him.

“Oh?” Michele realised that in the heat of his own epiphany, he had completely forgotten what had started the whole thing, and as it all came crashing back to him, he felt panic take over once more, sputtering some default comment of his about Sala being leagues over any other woman. He kicked himself mentally for the second time at how daft he must have sounded, and Sala moved her attention to the two skaters observing the entire scene. Seung Gil made some rude remark, and Michele happily pounced at the opportunity to move his attention away from Emil.

“Hey! How dare you speak that way to Sala?! Want a smackdown?!” The Korean ignored his threat, sneering at them to move aside, and Sala and Emil had to drag him out of the lift to stop him from escalating things. The Korean smirked smugly as the elevator doors slid shut, leaving them in the corridor by the reception area. Michele became acutely aware that Emil’s arm was folded around him, and he could feel the pressure of the taller man’s body up against his back. He shivered and wiggled free, desperately trying to compose himself.

Ten years. Ten years since he realised that he wasn’t like other boys. Ten years spent hiding it, desperately clinging to his affection for his sister and his need to protect her as a means to keep himself distracted from any unwanted feelings. He knew his parents might support him if he came out, but the rest of the family? His country? He didn’t want to even consider the potential fallout.

He knew he isolated himself, made himself unlikable and difficult to get to know. It was all self-preservation, mechanisms built up over years to protect himself from being put into a situation where he might have to deal with falling in love. And then Emil came rushing into his life, like a whirlwind of energy and smiles, hugs and laughter. Michele had put up his usual defences, but Emil had persisted. He had befriended Sala, but never made any inappropriate moves, and always included Michele to make sure everything stayed completely proper and platonic. And slowly, the Czech bundle of happiness had managed to pry himself through the fortress the Italian skater had built up around him, earning himself the rare title of ‘friend’. So, when Michele found out that Emil and Sala had made plans, seemingly without him, he had lost it. Not because Emil had dared to ask his sister out, but, he realised, because Emil hadn’t asked _him_ out. 

He looked up at Emil’s face, his scruffy beard and his blue eyes and felt the world around him crumble down. _So, this is how it feels like to fall…_

 

* * *

 

Emil had been almost certain Michele was going to hit him back in the lift. He would have let him of course. He was used to getting hit. But then Michele had surprised him and backed off, as if put off by something, and Emil wasn’t entirely sure if he was relieved or disappointed. For him, love had always been interlaced with violence, be it from his parents or a partner, and he had grown used to take it with stoic silence. He never retaliated. He knew the violence came from a place of hurt, and he couldn’t find it in himself to increase that hurt by inflicting more pain. He also knew it was destructive, but part of him kept telling him he deserved it. His ex-girlfriend had nearly hospitalised him once. He had told his coach it had been a climbing accident. Then she dumped him for someone as violent as herself. He had been utterly heartbroken, but he didn’t show it. He didn’t want to burden anyone with his pain, so he smiled wider than before and laughed more.  
  
He stole a glance up at the Italian sitting in front of him. Sala had talked Michele into coming with them for dinner, insisting that the three of them going together had been the plan all along, and her brother, uncharacteristically reluctant, had agreed to join them. Michele was holding his wine glass, swirling its content with a mesmerizingly elegant movement of his wrist, before putting the glass to his lips, and Emil’s mind drifted into a fantasy of pressing those lips against his own.  
  
“Did you want a glass?” Emil was torn out of his reverie and realised he had been staring at Michele’s lips. He felt his ears go red and a blush spreading on his chest and nodded quickly, embracing the out Michele’s misinterpretation of the situation had given him. The Italian poured him a glass and passed it to him, sending jolts of electricity through his body as their fingers brushed. Michele went back to discussing the food with his sister, and Emil shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had liked Michele instantly when he first saw him and it hadn’t taken him long to become ridiculously infatuated. His gorgeous chestnut hair, his strikingly violet eyes, how sexy he looked when he frowned; Emil hadn’t stood a chance. That the object of his desire was cold and bordering on mean-spirited to begin with hardly discouraged him; he was used to worse. Besides, as the months flew by, the treatment he received from Michele softened. After a year, they had developed something of a friendship, and Emil had gone from infatuated to deeply in love, but also too afraid to ruin their platonic relationship to make any move that might jeopardize it. And, so he just learned to treasure every moment he got to spend with him. He suspected Sala knew, but the two of them had never spoken about it; they rarely spoke without Michele being included in the conversation, be it online or face to face.  
  
He turned his attention back to the twins across the table from him. They were still talking, but they had drifted over to Italian, their voices almost hushed, and in his peripheral vision, he had noticed Sala glancing at him once or twice, and heard his name mentioned. He realised he had been unusually quiet. Normally, he would be enthusiastically involved in whatever topic the conversation would revolve around, and yet, tonight, he had barely spoken at all. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed back in the lift, but he didn’t know what.  
  
They finished the meal in an awkward silence, and after they’d paid, it followed the three of them on the way home. Michele wore a deep frown, and strangely, kept Sala in between the two of them, cementing Emil’s suspicion of a shift between them. The tension in the lift up to their floor was thick enough to cut through, and when they got out and said their goodbyes, Michele barely gave him a nod and turned on his heel before Emil could even attempt to give him a hug, leaving Sala behind.  
  
“I’m… I’m sorry, Emil, I… I don’t know what’s up with him tonight.” Sala looked at him apologetically and squeezed his shoulder before saying goodnight. Emil muttered a goodnight back, and watched her catch up with her brother who was already at their door. Just as Michele pushed the handle down, his violet eyes sent him a scowl. Then he disappeared into the room he shared with his sister, leaving Emil alone and forlorn in the hall. It felt like something had grabbed hold of his heart and clutched uncomfortably tightly around it with sharp claws. He wished Michele had just punched him instead. Then at least he could have soothed his pain with an ice bag. He swallowed hard and walked to his room, feeling his eyes sting as he closed the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for homophobia and hints towards domestic violence.

Michele had spent the entire meal desperately trying to ignore Emil and the effect his presence had on him, and Emil had made his job slightly easier by being weirdly quiet. They had only really conversed with each other when Emil seemed to regret his choice of drink, staring longingly at the wine glass he had been holding, and Michele regretted offering him one when their fingers had brushed, sending shivers down his spine and goosebumps down his arms. He dove back into the conversation with Sala with great enthusiasm, and noticed in the corner of his eye that the Czech seemed to shift uncomfortably. He assumed that this wasn’t what he and Sala had planned, and part of him felt bad for having given into his sister’s insistence on him joining them. She’d told him that had been the plan all along, but he found that hard to believe. The other part of him was freaking out over the whole situation. Sala was his crutch, his safety net, the one he turned to whenever he got close to to develop any sort of feeling which might become problematic later, but this time, that was proving difficult as Emil always seemed to be around her.

When at last they got back to the hotel, Michele could not wait to get back to the safety of his room, but as he unlocked the door, his gaze wandered back towards Emil. He scolded himself silently, frowning harshly at his own stupidity, before averting his gaze and entering the room, Sala following behind him.

“What is going on with you?” Sala stared at him incredulously, picking up the conversation which had started in the restaurant, the one he had insisted on delaying until they were in the privacy of their room. The question hung unanswered in the air while Michele contemplated what on earth to answer. He certainly couldn't tell the truth, so he went with the obvious, easy fix.

“He betrayed my trust! He went behind my back to ask you out! It's pretty clear to me now that this whole friendship was built on a lie, a way to get to you!” He knew that was probably not true, at least not entirely, but he needed to believe it, needed to cling on to some sort of justification, a way out, and right now that meant bringing his focus back to Sala and push Emil away.

“Mickey! You know Emil would never do that!” Sala’s voice was high pitched with disbelief and she shouted at him. Deep inside, he knew she was right. Emil was far too kind to put together some sort of manipulative plot. Michele felt his cheeks flush just thinking about the way those blonde lock would fall in front of those blue eyes, Emil’s hand as he brushed them back in place… _No! I should not be thinking about him like that! It’s wrong! Disgusting! Sinful…_ Shame filled his entire being and fuelled him with rage.

“Maybe not intentionally! But I won’t let him tear the two of us apart! He needs to back off!” He slammed his palm at the wall, making a loud smacking noise and Sala gaped at him. His heart was pounding in his chest, his entire body shaking with the adrenaline. He had never done anything like this in front of her. It was always them versus the world, and their fights would usually just consist of light bickering and snarky remarks, and they always ended in them laughing at the end of it. This was new, and it showed on his sister’s face.

“Mickey… You’re scaring me…” His sister looked meek, her words soft and trembling, and every bit of anger evaporated, quickly replaced by guilt and worry. Taking some shaky breaths, he crumbled down to his knees.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry, Sala,” he whispered, barely aware of the tears trickling down his face. Slowly, Sala approached and knelt down beside him, gently stroking his hair, and he let her hold him as he wept.

When his tears finally subsided, he had a terrible headache. Sala told him to get to bed, saying they could talk later and that he would need a good night’s sleep before the Men’s Short Program the next day. She was right, of course, but going to sleep on an argument like that made him feel sick. He watched her enter the bathroom to get ready for bed, and as the door closed, he was left to his own thoughts again. An old memory came crawling out of the woodwork of his mind, like an unwelcome chill from the past.

Incense filled the air, mingled with the scent of candles, dusty books and the musty smell from the velvet padding on the knee rest in front of him. His mother’s voice as she sang a psalm, and Sala’s thin, eight year old one trying to sing along. As the psalm finished, he noticed the hushed whispers and the stolen glances and frowns at the man in front of him. He tugged his mother’s sleeve for answers, but was shushed to silence. After mass, as the congregation started filing out, the crowd parted like the sea for Moses as the man in front of him got up to leave. There were no whispers now, but scowls and the word “fascina” was said out loud. The man stopped, swallowed, then moved on. Michele turned to his mother once again once they were heading for the car and asked why people were behaving so strangely towards the man. She looked at him, her eyes filled with sadness, and simply replied: because he fell in love with another man.

Michele swallowed hard. It had been his first experience with the harsh reality of what it meant to be a sinner, an outcast of society, and was burned into his brain like a brand. He had tried so hard! So hard for so many years! And now all of it seemed for nothing.

_No. I won't let it be for nothing! I'll show Sala tomorrow that she doesn't need Emil, that she has me. And I have her. And that's all we need. All I need._

With determination he got ready for bed after his sister crawled into hers, nodding to himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He drifted off quickly, but his dreams were mired with the smell of incense.

 

* * *

 

The hotel carpet felt scratchy on his skin. Emil woke up on the floor of his room, still dressed. He checked the time. Still an hour until his alarm would go off. His face felt stiff from salt and his neck was sore from the unusual sleeping position, but he had actually slept surprisingly well in spite of it all. He figured he might as well get an early start. The water from the shower felt divine, clearing his skin and his mind. Michele had obviously misread the situation and his overreaction was understandable considering he probably saw Emil as a friend. He must have not only felt angry with him, but possibly also betrayed.

_He was right, I’m an idiot. I didn’t comprehend how badly he was hurting, and there I was laughing an apology in his face! I’m so freaking stupid!_

He groaned out loud with annoyance. He would have to find a way to make up for it. As he dried off, he made a promise to himself that he would do his best to keep his respectful distance from Sala and be as nice and encouraging towards Mickey as possible. Hopefully, that would be enough.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower, then wiped off the condensation on the mirror and looked at himself. His hair was a bushy mess akin to a bird’s nest and the bruises on his left ribs seemed to be calming down. He traced them, recalling the smell of alcohol on his father’s breath. He had just popped by to hand his house keys off to his little brother who would be checking up on his plants while he was away, but he immediately knew what was coming when he heard the sound of the the radio from the kitchen, mingled with the scent of cigarettes. His father only ever set foot in there when he was drinking.

Emil looked up at his face again, the mirror once again fogging up. He had his father’s jawline, but the beard helped hide it. He stretched left to pick up the hair dryer and felt a sharp pain from the vicinity of the bruises. He frowned. Had hoped it would have healed more by now, along with the bruises, but he told himself he would manage to plough through it somehow. Ignoring the pain, he continued his morning routine and got ready for an early breakfast.

 

* * *

 

Emil was nowhere to be seen at breakfast, and Michele couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved. The twins had a quick meal before Michele needed to head off to the rink for his morning practice, where he did his best to avoid any interaction with Emil. He managed to keep his distance most of the day, but as he was about to join the six-minute warm-up, the Czech cornered him.

“Mickey, I’m really sorry about yesterday.” Emil was rubbing his neck with one hand and looked up at him with those big puppy eyes. Michele’s heart skipped a beat and he clenched his jaw, trying to find a way to wiggle out of the conversation as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to tell Emil it was all ok, but he knew that might just make the other skater more desperate to make up for it. He didn’t want to give him too much encouragement either. In the end, he just mumbled an ‘it’s ok, just forget about it’, and slipped past him, avoiding any physical contact. He let his focus flow into his skating, feeling the smooth sensation of the ice beneath him and the cool air in his lungs. The minutes went by too quickly, and he was relieved to see Sala waiting for him as he got off the ice. Emil was lingering nearby, but kept his distance from Sala.

Seung Gil was announced and started his program, and Emil stood a few steps in front of him, watching the Korean intently. The former was doing a good job, and the latter was getting increasingly nervous. Michele knew because Emil was fidgeting with his hair. _He only does that when he’s uneasy._

 

* * *

 

Emil watched Seung Gil, but his thoughts were on the Italian standing behind him. On his curt response earlier. Had it been a bad idea to corner him like that? It felt like he was almost back at square one, the way Mickey had been when they first met, and he couldn’t help but feel like he had just lost his friendship.

_I’ll start from scratch then. I’ll just shower him with kindness and encouragement and take whatever snarky remarks he throws at me with a laugh, and hopefully, in time, he’ll forgive me._ Even with that in mind, he couldn’t stop the heavy feeling in his chest as he stepped out on the ice, the feeling that he had broken something fragile and that, even if mended, it would never be quite the same again.


	3. Chapter 3

Emil had had said something about Seung Gil being a hard act to follow, and before Michele could stop himself, he had remarked with a worried frown that he'd never seen Emil that nervous before. The other skater deflected the comment with the upbeat suggestion that they should all go to Barcelona together. Michele wasn't sure if that was meant as a challenge for them all to qualify, or if it was Emil’s way of saying that it didn't matter and they could all just go there anyway, regardless of how they did in the competition. What he was sure of, was that something seemed to be bothering the Czech; Emil’s smile didn't reach his eyes.

As Michele watched, the nagging feeling that something was wrong increased. Emil normally had an abundance of energy which would infuse his performance with a spark, but there was no spark today, not even a twinkle from the rising star of the Czech Republic.

“He’s good at jumping, but his performance is lackluster,” he thought.

“Is it?” He heard Sala’s voice and realised he had said it out loud. Thankfully, his sister seemed to be lost in thought, turning away from him before he could answer. He resumed watching Emil, desperately trying not to think about how toned the younger man’s legs looked in those tight trousers. He could feel his frown grow deeper.

 

* * *

 

It was like he had lost his spark. Emil did well technically, but it felt like he was just going through the motions, checking the boxes with every move. His ribs hurt, but it was a minor distraction in comparison to the heavy feeling inside inside his chest. As he went off the ice, he saw the frown on Michele’s face, and it stung, but he took a few deep breaths on the way to the Kiss and Cry, mustering all he had left of energy to put on a happy face for the cameras (and for Mickey).

His score was better than he expected based on how he had felt on the ice, and he tried his best to put on his usual enthusiastic demeanor. For a moment, as he was leaving the Kiss and Cry, he caught Michele’s eye as the Italian was getting ready to get onto the ice and Emil could have sworn he saw worry on his face. _Give him some encouragement! Or something! Anything!_

“Mickey, you’ll one-up me now, right!” Michele gave him no response, and Emil wasn’t sure if it was because he couldn’t hear him or if he was ignoring him. He decided to believe the former and headed over to the rink, calling out Michele’s nickname. He spotted Sala, and called out to her as well, but she seemed utterly focused on her brother. Michele stepped out on the ice, and Emil watched him start his program, determined to cheer him on any way he could. He grinned as Michele landed his triple axel, frowned when he failed the quadruple Salchow, and gaped with joy at the triple toe loop turned triple loop.

The eldest Crispino twin hugged his sister before heading towards the Kiss and Cry, and Emil stood ready to give him a high five, but he never did. Instead, he found himself feeling like an idiot as Michele completely blanked him, his heart sinking. He bit his lower lip, and shook his head in an attempt to shake it off, but failed. The need to get away became too big and he blinked furiously and left.

 

* * *

 

Michele didn’t know what he would have done if Sala hadn’t been there. It had taken all his willpower to walk past Emil like that, and he’d felt awful about it afterwards. The moment kept replaying itself in his head, despite his best effort to push it aside. Emil’s big, stupid grin, his hand raised waiting for Michele to high-five him. In his peripheral vision, he had seen the way Emil’s face fell when he ignored the hand and passed him as if there had been no-one there. After the Kiss and Cry, Emil was nowhere to be found. Michele hadn’t expected it to hurt, but the younger man’s absence tore at him, and made his head swim with guilt. But, as always, Sala had given him the focus he needed to keep himself together.  
  
They had turned in early and gotten a good night’s sleep. Michele had made sure he didn’t stay rinkside as Emil went onto the ice, and Sala conveniently dragged him backstage.

 

* * *

 

It was easy to get into the feel of his free skate, because at that very point, Emil Nekola didn’t feel human. His skin felt too tight, his suit too slack. He poured his focus into landing all his quads, but as he did the quadruple loop, he saw Michele standing rinkside, watching him intensely. Their eyes met, and he felt himself fall apart. He messed up his planned combination. A stabbing pain in his side caught him off guard as he got back on his feet, and going into the triple Salchow, he already knew it would fail.

 

* * *

 

It felt like he had been pushed off a cliff, falling through the air, not knowing if or when he would hit the ground. Michele’s thoughts were a mess. Sala had just told him he needed to let her go, that he needed to learn how to stand on his own feet without her, that she would start dating. He had considered several scenarios, but it all came back to Emil, and it was all too clear. After what had happened at their dinner, it made sense that she finally felt the need to put her foot down. He wanted her to be happy, more than anything, and he knew that he had been selfish to cling to her like that, but now, his fear of some asshole treating her poorly had been replaced with a fear of something else. He couldn’t seem to put his finger on it, only perceived the feeling of plummeting into some unknown depth, and then, as he walked out from the backstage area, and spotted Emil on the ice, he came to a crushing realisation: he was not only afraid of losing her, he was afraid of losing Emil, of losing them both.

He watched Emil’s blue-clad figure move on the ice, watched the way he executed every quad perfectly. _He’s not human,_ he thought. Their eyes met, and it was like the world around him evaporated into a dull mass. And then Emil fell, his planned combination falling apart, and Michele felt himself gasp. The Czech got back on his feet, but there was a weird expression on his face as he went into the triple Salchow, which he also failed to execute properly. He hadn’t seen Emil mess up like that before. Sure, he had seen him tire and flub jumps before, but this felt different. He wanted to run over to him, and wrap his arms around him and tell him it would be ok. That was a reaction previously reserved for Sala alone. Michele frowned and looked up at the figure of Emil standing in the finishing pose of his program and nodded to himself, his mind made up. _If he is good enough for me, then he is good enough for Sala. Even if it means I’ll lose them both._ His heart was racing in his chest and he moved forwards to where Emil would come off the ice, where he himself would be going out on it moments later, and waited.

 

* * *

 

The violet suit sparkled gorgeously in the light as Emil moved towards the rinkside. He knew Michele was next man out, but it felt like he was standing there waiting for him. As he got closer, he noticed the older man was wearing an odd expression, like he was... worried? No, like he was…  
  
“Sorry. For ignoring you yesterday. I’m sorry. It was a shitty move. Forgive me?” Michele looked sincere, and Emil couldn’t help the butterflies which seemed to hatch in his tummy. He blinked in surprise, and saw Michele reach out a hand for him to shake. He took it. Enveloped it in both of his.

“Of course I forgive you! And… thank you. I thought I had ruined our friendship somehow, and that’s the last thing I’d want.” He gave the Italian a broad smile. Michele smiled meekly back.

“I… I gotta get to the Kiss and Cry…” Michele nodded, and let him pass. There was still a stabbing pain in his ribs as he moved, but Emil was too happy to care about it now, and couldn’t help but feel giddy as a child as he sat down. _He doesn’t hate me! There’s still hope!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for violence (though not very graphic) and some blood.

Michele’s free skate was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. The Italian had never been so relaxed on the ice, never had such a presence. The song was a love song, Serenade for Two, but there was a melancholy to his performance which made it all the more mesmerizing. Emil played the memory of it over and over in his head. He was back in his hotel room, getting ready to go out for some food at a restaurant and then possibly a drink. He had been pretty gobsmacked when Michele, once he had calmed down from an unexpected Katsuki Yuuri hug backstage, suggested he joined the twins and Mila for a bite. He put on his best shirt and that slightly tight fitting pair of jeans, and, after a long debate in his head, some cologne. They were to meet in the lobby, and the lift seemed to take ages getting there, allowing his mind to wander.

Michele’s sudden change of heart was still a bit of a mystery for him. Not that he was complaining, but he was very curious about what on earth could have happened to cause such a sudden u-turn. Michele had let Emil support him as he was having a bit of an anxiety attack backstage. The older Crispino twin was uncomfortable with physical contact at the best of times, with the one exception of very close friends and family, such as Sala, and being taken by surprise like that by Yuuri must have been too much. And yet, he had been completely fine with Emil’s arm around his waist, even putting his own over Emil’s shoulders for support as they walked over to the closest chair. Sure he had been hyperventilating, but not over that. It felt like a tremendous declaration of trust. Sala and Emil both sat by his side as he calmed down, visibly embarrassed over being seen like that in public, but seemingly glad that they were both there. And then he had blurted out that they should eat together. Sala, who had looked just as surprised as Emil had felt, reminded him that she had promised to keep Mila company, and Michele, uncharacteristically generous, suggested that the Russian should join them too.

The lift finally arrived on the ground floor, and the twins were sitting in the lounge. Emil walked over, and just as he was wondering where Mila was, the doors of the other lift opened, revealing the redheaded Russian. Mila looked stunning. She was wearing a stylish, tightly fitting black and hot pink dress under a classy wool coat, her hair bouncing in wild curls around her face. Sala looked no less lovely in her purple silk blouse and simple, but cute black skirt which showed off her legs and a pair of expensive looking pumps, face framed by her beautiful hair. And then there was Michele, looking ever so stylish in crisply pressed trousers, a black shirt of clearly high quality, top two buttons casually undone, and a perfectly fitted waistcoat in a gorgeous purple to match his sister’s blouse under a black blazer. Emil forgot how to breathe for a split second. And then he felt terribly underdressed in his royal blue shirt and black jeans, his green jacket casually thrown over it all, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

Sala came over and gave him a hug, and surprisingly, Michele didn’t say a word. Then her smile widened and she literally threw her arms around Mila, who very happily reciprocated the embrace. _Well, that explains it,_ Emil thought, seeing the way the two women let their gaze linger on each other. He smiled to himself and felt a wave of relief wash over himself. With Sala in love with a woman, Michele no longer needed to worry about Emil making any moves on her, explaining why he was so chilled out about the whole situation.

Emil had always gotten along with Mila. She was one of those straight-forward, no nonsense types, and Emil could appreciate that. He also suspected the fact that he would just laugh off all her sass had contributed to her accepting him as a person she could be bothered to hang out with. He caught her eye, and gave her a lopsided grin of approval. She smirked knowingly back.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was pleasant, with Emil and the girls making sure the conversation flowed easily. Sala had insisted on having Mila beside her, and Michele decided to keep his distance by sitting opposite to the Russian and letting Emil sit opposite his sister. He watched the two of them chat and giggle together, and while he was happy for them, he couldn’t help but feel miserable. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop his eyes from being drawn to Emil’s profile, his neck, his strong shoulders. The intoxicating smell of his cologne drove him crazy, and when their arms accidentally brushed, it took him all of his willpower to not gasp out loud. And all the while that voice at the back of his head kept shouting at him, telling him that this was wrong, that he would go to hell, that he would bring shame upon his entire family, mingling his desire with self-loathing, and Emil’s cologne with the phantom scent of incense.  
  
After the bill was paid, Emil suggested grabbing a drink somewhere, however, Sala and Mila had to get a good night’s sleep for their free skate the next day, so Michele had expected them all to head back. But then Sala said that the boys could always stay out without them, giving him that look which meant there was no point in arguing. He guessed that she wanted him to talk to Emil and make sure that they were ok, but he was still not too happy about letting his sister go back alone.  
  
“Don’t worry, Michele, I’ll make sure your sister gets home safely,” Mila offered, clearly seeing his worry. She was certainly capable; he had heard rumours of Mila lifting Yuri Plisetsky up over her head like he was made of air. That still didn’t change the fact that he would have to be alone with Emil, but he supposed he would have to just get used to being around him now that Sala had made her decision, so he sighed, and gave in. Sala hugged him and kissed his cheek.  
  
“I love you, big brother,” she whispered, and somehow, that made him feel a whole lot better.  
  
With the girls safely in a cab, Michele and Emil headed over to a bar nearby. It was noisy and kind of crowded, the drinks were on the expensive side and the lighting was dim, but they somehow managed to find a place to sit where they could actually speak. Michele had kept things simple and ordered a gin and tonic, and Emil was sipping his beer. They were sitting side by side on a sort of bench which stretched all the way along the wall facing the bar, and then, further down, the dance floor. There were several small tables making a parallel line with the bench, but there wasn’t a single chair in sight, only tall bar stools by the counter. Most people were on the dance floor, except for three men sitting by a table near the dance floor, clearly admiring the view.

“So,” Michele started, but he wasn’t quite sure where to go from there. He glanced over at his friend. Emil met his gaze and gave him the tiniest smile while he fidgeted with his hair. Knowing that Emil was nervous as well, made Michele feel a little more at ease.

“Look, I… I just want you to know that we’re ok,” he said in the end. Emil’s smile grew a little wider. He looked away, studying the flasks at the bar, shining like multicoloured lamps on a row.

“It’s just that… well, it’s really hard for me to let her go, so… I guess I just need you to promise me that you’ll be good to her.” He looked over at Emil again and was surprised to find the smile on his face replaced by a puzzled frown.

“I know. I know you would never hurt her, well, logically, I know you wouldn’t, but I just need to hear you say it so-”

“I’m not dating Sala, Mickey.” Emil’s words caught him completely off guard and he didn’t manage to do anything but stare blankly at him while he processed them in his head. _This make no sense!_

 

* * *

 

Emil could feel the blood pumping in his veins, and he had to put his drink down to hide that his hands were shaking. This was it. He’d waited so long to get Michele on his own, a chance to tell him without Sala or anyone else around. This was likely his best and only chance. He took a deep breath, wet his lips and met Michele’s gaze.

“I’m not into Sala. I’m…” This was it. His heart was pounding so hard that he nearly started to worry that Michele would hear it.

“I’m into you.” There. He’d said it. He felt slightly light-headed. Michele just looked at him, the hint of a line between his brows, his lips slightly parted. Emil wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, or the adrenaline, but somehow he managed to find the courage to move closer. Michele didn’t move an inch. Emil leaned in, his face inches from Michele’s. He could smell the hint of alcohol on the Italian’s breath.  
  
“Can I kiss you?” Michele didn’t say anything, but gave him a small nod, his breath shaky. Emil placed a hand on his cheek, caressing his tanned jaw, and Michele shuddered. Licking his lips, he leaned in the last few inches to meet Michele’s lips. Emil kissed him. Softly at first, relishing the feeling of those plush lips against his. Then he slid his hand behind Michele’s neck and tentatively brushed his tongue against the slightly parted lips pressed against his. He was allowed access and he thought he might die of exhilaration when Michele’s tongue met his. Their kiss deepened, their breaths heavy, and then he felt Mickey place his hands on his chest and shove him way.

 

* * *

 

  _What the hell are you doing!? You disgusting filth! You’re going to hell!_ Michele panicked. He shoved Emil away, and felt rage bubble up in him.

  
“Get off me! This is disgusting!” Emil’s face shifted from confusion to hurt to worry, and he reached out to touch him, to calm him down. Michele slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” he sneered at the Czech and staggered to his feet, feeling suffocated. He needed to get out and started making his way towards the door. He vaguely registered Emil shouting his name, but ignored him. He got out on the street and pulled out his phone to call a cab, but heard his name behind him. He moved a little further away from the entrance to the bar, but heard footsteps behind him and turned to see the tall blonde he had been kissing only moments ago.

“Mickey… I’m sorry… Please don’t-” He was cut off by some voices behind him and Michele spotted a group of three men heading their way. They were the ones who had been seated by the dance floor.

“Is he bothering you,” one of them asked in broken English as they got closer. Michele couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.  
  
“N-no, it’s ok.” He watched the three of them circle Emil.  
  
“Are you sure? It looked like you didn’t appreciate what he was doing. We don’t appreciate what he was doing either,” the man continued and before Michele could say anything, the man standing behind Emil grabbed the Czech's arms while the guy standing to his left punched him in the stomach without a single warning. Michele was frozen in terror as Emil struggled to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him.

“Grebanyy pedik,” the first man shouted and landed a second punch, which connected at Emil’s ribs, making the Czech’s eyes go wide as he choked on his breath. Michele tried to move, but it was like he was paralysed and his body refused to obey him.  
  
“NO! Please stop!” They ignored his shouting, throwing a third blow, and he watched helplessly as the men let Emil go, allowing him to collapse down on his hands and knees. The man who had initially spoken to them, kicked Emil’s torso, knocking him over on his side, making him cough and gasp for air. There was a siren in the distance, and the men looked at each other.  
  
“That should serve as a lesson for the abomination to stay inside if he wants to live,” the first man spat, before he motioned for them all to run off. They quickly disappeared around a corner and finally, Michele’s paralysis passed. He bolted over to Emil who lay on his side, struggling to breathe.  
  
“Please… Oh, God, please,” Michele muttered as he knelt down beside the barely moving body on the ground. There was blood trickling out of the corner of Emil's mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

Tears streaked his face. He blinked furiously to stop his vision from blurring as he tried to look up the Russian emergency numbers on his phone. The fear-induced adrenaline coursing through him made it hard to hold it steady. It took him some time to explain the situation to a man with very broken English, all the while trying not to let his voice break. In the end, Michele thought he had gotten it right, but he could do no more than hope and wait. He had been afraid to move Emil, in case he ended up hurting him more, so instead he had taken off his blazer, folded it together and very carefully put it under Emil’s head. The latter had groaned with pain, but let him, his breath strained and unsteady. It terrified Michele.

It all felt so unreal. One moment they had been kissing, and now Emil was lying there on the ground, blood from his mouth all over his cheek and streaking some of his blonde locks. He was looking pale, eyelids heavy, too busy trying to breathe to be able to speak. Michele had apologised so many times he had lost count, carefully stroking Emil’s messy hair, praying to God that he would survive, that he would be ok.

When the ambulance arrived, Emil’s skin had taken on a bluish tint. The paramedics worked quickly. Shortly after they were inside the ambulance, heading for the nearest hospital while Michele did his best to explain what had happened. He conveniently left out the part about them having kissed; it was hardly relevant to Emil’s condition. From what Michele could understand, they seemed to believe it might be a punctured lung, which sounded pretty serious. He tried to not panic, muttering prayers under his breath.

They arrived at the hospital,  and everything was a blur. After they had rolled Emil off somewhere, he was told to sit and wait. Part of him wanted nothing more than to call Sala, but he stopped himself, knowing it might ruin her chances at doing well at the free skate. So he just sent her a message.

‘I’m staying with Emil tonight, don’t wait up. Good luck tomorrow. I love you.’ He pressed send. There was no one else to call. If he contacted their coach, he would probably tell Sala, and he didn’t really know any of the other skaters well enough to have their phone number. So he waited.

 

* * *

 

His eyes felt crispy and he struggled to open them. He was lying in a bed, his head swimming, his body numb. Slowly, his memory returned to him. The kiss, Michele freaking out, the beating he had taken, and then his memories got blurry. He felt panic set in. What if they had gone for Michele afterwards? He tried to open his eyes again and they were more cooperative this time. He was in a hospital, and the first thing he saw as he turned his head left was Michele sleeping in a chair pulled all the way up to the bed. His head was resting against the raised mattress of the hospital bed and his right arm resting on top of it, his hand gently wrapped around Emil’s. The amount of relief upon seeing Michele unharmed, mixed with the intense joy of the hand clutching his made him tear up. There was a dull ache in his chest, and the IV in his and was uncomfortable at best, but he had never felt happier.

Michele stirred, moaning softly. Emil noticed trails of salt on his cheeks. The Italian yawned and his eyes opened slowly.

“Hey,” Emil said, his voice hoarse, and Michele’s head snapped up, his eyes wide awake, his lips parted. He didn’t speak, just leaned over him, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” There was nothing but sadness in those violet eyes, and Emil would do anything to take that sadness away.

“Don’t. Don’t apologise. It’s ok-”

“No! It’s not ok! I freaked out and I said some horrible things and-”

“Stop.” Emil squeezed the hand already clutching his, and Michele went quiet.

“I know you freaked out and it’s my fault for not taking things slow. I shouldn’t have…” he looked away, “kissed you.” He saw Michele’s arm stretch out in front of him, felt Michele’s hand on his cheek, turning his head towards him, felt Michele’s breath on his face, smelled Michele’s cologne and then tasted Michele’s lips on his. It was a tender kiss, deep, but tender, and when they broke apart, Michele leaned his forehead against his, nuzzling Emil's nose with his.

“I’m glad you kissed me,” he whispered, “I just wish I could have changed what happened afterwards. I thought I was going to lose you. I thought I was going to lose you and that those horrible things would be the last words I ever said to you.” He sat back down in the chair, both hands now holding Emil’s left hand.

“I’m still scared and I’m probably going to hell for this, but… I’d rather go to hell than lose you, because that terrifies me beyond anything I’ve ever felt before.” Michele’s eye glazed over, and Emil realised he himself was already crying.

“If you’re going to hell, I’m coming with you,” he half-joked, but he meant it, and it made the corners of Michele’s mouth tug it into the hint of a smile.  
  
“Hey… Any chance you could kiss me again?” This time he didn’t even try to joke, and yet it made Michele smile for real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit short, but hopefully the fluff makes up for it! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long and sorry that this isn't by far as much as I wanted to write, but it's all I've had the energy for right now. I will try to not take too long on writing the next chapter!

Emil was sleeping, his breath causing his chest to rise and fall in a slow, steady pace, his lips slightly parted. The fingers of Michelle's right hand were still tangled in Emil's ashy blonde locks. Before the Czech fell asleep again, they had made sure he contacted his coach, who was on his way. The clock on the wall said 05:23, which meant he should be there shortly.

Michele yawned. He was tired, but there were too many thoughts swirling in his head to grant him rest. His feelings for the man in front of him was one thing; he'd deal with that in due time, the doctor's words were what kept the machinery of his brain working in high gear. In addition to a bruised jaw and a severely bruised abdomen, Emil's lung had indeed been punctured. It was not severe, a stroke of luck the doctor had pointed out, as he seemed to have already broken two ribs prior to the beating he took that night. _Prior to the beating,_ Michele had thought, puzzled and asked if the doctor could determine when that had happened. The answer was gnawing at him.

“Hard to pinpoint exactly, but I'd wager a guess at around a week, but no more,” the woman in her white coat and deep wrinkles around her eyes had responded. That meant just before Emil had left for Russia. Michele knew Emil did a lot of extreme sports, but he would never think even he would be reckless enough to do anything like that right before something as big and important as the Rostlecom Cup, which indicated something else had happened. It also meant he'd been competing with broken ribs, and Michele winced at the memory of Emil's last two performances as some of the pieces fell into place in his head. _He must have been in constant pain… And he probably kept it hidden from his coach, knowing he wouldn't be allowed to go through with it if he did. Oh, Emil… what happened to you?_

He heard low voices outside the door and withdrew his hand from the other skater’s hair. Moments later, Emil's coach, Mirek Zima, entered quietly, followed by the doctor.

“Ah, he's sleeping again. Good. He needs the rest,” the latter said, her voice hushed as she ushered Mirek inside. He was a calm man who emitted a sense of kind authority. He was averagely tall, but always looked so short next to Emil, and he was currently wearing a very concerned expression.

“Thank you for taking care of him and staying with him this long, Mr. Crispino,” Coach Zima sincerely whispered, “but you must be tired and wanting to get back to the hotel now, so I’ll take over.” Michele knew the coach was only intending to be kind, but he didn’t want to leave, so he turned to the doctor.

“How long will he need to stay here?” He could already tell from the frown on the doctor’s face that he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Well, he’s been more lucky than any human has the right to be, but for his own safety, we would like to keep him here for at least the next four days to make sure we can keep him monitored and on pain relief while his body heals. Then we will make a reassessment of his condition to see if he will need any longer.”

Michele’s heart sank. His flight back to Italy would leave in the morning the next day, and he hated the very thought of leaving Emil behind like this in a foreign country, even though he knew his presence wouldn’t change the outcome, and that the Czech wouldn’t be alone. He looked over at Emil’s coach. Mr. Zima’s brows were deeply furrowed as the doctor spoke in a soft murmur, so as to not disturb Emil’s sleep, and handed the older man a folder before she left the room. The coach met Michele’s gaze and slowly made his way over to him, leaving them both standing by the end of Emil’s bed. Mr. Zima’s brows were still furrowed, but his eyes were full of compassion.

“It makes me happy to find you here, Mr. Crispino” the older man sighed, placing his hand on Michele’s shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before he let it go again. Oddly, Michele didn't mind the physical contact, in fact, something about Emil's coach calmed him, made him feel safe.

"Please, call me Michele," the Italian interjected. The other man nodded.

“Well, then, Michele, I know it means the world to him that you've been here with him. He talks a lot about you, and he’s occasionally let it slip that he’s been worried that you don’t like him, that you’ve merely tolerated him. I’m very glad to see that is not the case, because I know that will make him happy. He’s a good lad, Emil. He deserves to have people care about him, he deserves some happiness…” He trailed off, looking over at Emil with sadness in his eyes. “He hasn’t had much of that in his life,” he murmured so quietly Michele almost didn’t catch it, making him wonder if he was really meant to. But he did hear it, and it caught him off guard. Emil, cheerful, lively, outgoing Emil who made friends so easily, who laughed freely and gave the world so much joy, how could he not have people care about him? How could he not have happiness in his life? Just the thought summoned an ache in Michele’s chest. He looked over at Emil’s bruised face and felt the stinging of tears.

“His father beats him,” Mr. Zima said, and a drop of salt water breached the barrier of Michele’s lashes to spill down on his cheek as that dull ache in his chest tightened around his heart, making it hard to breathe.

“I’ve had my suspicions for some time. Emil is an incurable thrillseeker, so the first year and a half as his coach I bought his ‘extreme sport accident’ explanations. I had no reason not to as his former coach warned me about it, but the last six months I’ve been paying attention, and…” his voice started to sound unsteady and he paused to clear his throat.  
“I still wasn’t sure, but this confirms my suspicions,” the coach said, lifting up the folder he had received from the doctor.

“Emil might be a thrillseeker, but he’s not stupid or that reckless. He would never do any silly stunts right before a competition. But I know he visited his family a few days before we left for Russia. And looking back, it all adds up… My poor boy-” The older man’s voice broke. He clutched the folder in his hand and brought the other one up to cover his mouth while he blinked furiously. There were glistening trails of salt water on Michele’s face.

“Můj sladký kluk…” Mirek Zima gave Emil’s shin a gentle rub as he muttered softly in Czech. Michele watched him, and was reminded of a memory from childhood, when Sala had been sick in bed, and their father had rubbed her hand and looked at her with the exact same expression as Emil’s coach was sporting in that moment. It made his heart swell. In a move completely uncharacteristic to him, he moved forwards and gave the coach a hug. Mr. Zima seemed surprised for a second, but returned the embrace shortly after. They stood like that for a few moments, before they let go, both with tear stained eyes, and nodded to each other.

Although Michele was loathe to leave Emil, he doubted there could be anyone more capable of taking care of him than the middle aged Czech man standing in front of him.

“Uhm… here’s my phone number. Would… would you keep me updated on him, Mr. Zima?” Michele handed him his contact details card. Mr. Zima offered a meek smile as he took the card.

“Call me Mirek. And I will. Here’s mine, should you want to contact me,” the coach said, holding out his card. Michele accepted and with another nod, he picked up his things, cast one last lingering glance at Emil and reluctantly left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Můj sladký kluk = My sweet boy


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Michele got back to the hotel, Sala had already left for her morning practice. He had taken his sweet time, though, stopping by a café on the way to get something light to eat, but no coffee, as he hoped to get some more sleep. As the door to his and Sala’s room closed behind him, pulled out his phone and started writing a text message to his sister, shuffling out of his shoes.

‘I just got back. Gonna get some sleep. I know you’ll be magnificent on the ice today! Love you!’ He pressed ‘send’, but when he read the last text he had sent, he realised how it looked and he felt a blush creep up his neck as panic started to set in. Sala hadn’t replied at all to his previous text, and his head started to fill up with the worst reasons for why that might be. All Sala knew was that she left her brother at a club with Emil, and from the texts he had sent, the most logical conclusion anyone would draw was that they had gone off and done the dirty all night. His pulse seemed to be running off with him in his anxiety. There was literally nothing he could do about it until Sala was finished with her long program, and he took some deep breaths, trying to calm down.

He looked down on the blazer in his hand. It was dirty and stained with blood, Emil’s blood, and he threw it into the corner by the door in a sudden desperate need to get away from it. He felt dirty and decided to take a shower to wash away the bad experiences of the night before. He undressed, but the whiff of something vaguely familiar made him pause. The collar of his shirt somehow still carried the scent of Emil’s cologne. He clutched it, brought it up to his face and buried his nose into the fabric, inhaling deeply.

The memory of Emil’s lips against his rushed into his mind, the sensation of Emil’s tongue sliding into his mouth, the feeling of Emil’s fingers on his skin. His breath became unsteady again. He wanted to feel it again, wanted to taste him again, and that left him feeling both terrified and exhilarated. He had spent so long suppressing these kind of feelings, and he still couldn’t help feeling shame for having them, but just thinking of Emil’s smile made it impossible for him to suppress them any longer. He would just have to deal with the shame. He would also have to deal with the way that vivid memory combined with the scent from his shirt had made his body react, it seemed. He muttered some unsavory words and got into the shower, hoping the water might clear his mind. It didn’t in the slightest.

He was so hard it almost hurt, and his mind kept wandering down memory lane, his hand wandering down towards his hardness. He found himself fantasising about what could have been if the two of them really _had_ gone off somewhere private together. He imagined Emil unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it aside with his big hands, teasing his already perky nipples with long fingers. Emil’s tongue against his skin, licking its way down towards his abdomen. Emil undoing his belt, tugging off his trousers. Emil’s hands closing around his cock, his tongue playing with the tip of if before taking him into his mouth…

He groaned heavily as he climaxed, his body shuddering. Lightheadedness and shame flooded over him, and he had to support himself against the wall to not fall over. He felt disgusted in himself, so he quickly cleaned himself up, dried off, brushed his teeth and threw on a clean pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt before he crawled into bed. It did not take long for his fatigue to catch up with him, and he was soon fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

“Mickey. Mickey! Wake up, Casanova!” Sala’s voice was somewhat annoyed, but there was an undercurrent of excitement and amusement in it as well, and Michele yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, the world cloudy in his sleepy mind.

“Hmmm?” He blinked a few times, as his memory returned to him through the fog of fatigue still weighing him down.

“You’ve slept enough! It’s time to get up and celebrate your sister having won silver!” His twin now grinned widely and for a moment, the occurrences of the night before took a backseat to his swelling pride. He sat up and threw his arms around her.

“I’m so proud of you! So incredibly proud!” He gave her another squeeze before they broke the embrace, and Sala’s smile had adopted an air of mischief.

“So, do you think your loverboy has had enough rest to join us while we paint the town red?” She winked, and it took Michele a few seconds to connect the dots of what she had just said. First, a wave of relief washed over him at the fact that she seemed completely fine with the idea of him and Emil being involved, making him smile meekly. Then reality came crashing down on him, wiping the smile off his face, leaving him with a distressed frown.

“Did I say something wrong? Mickey? What’s wrong?” His sister took his hand and he looked up at her. He didn’t want to tell her. Telling her would make it feel more real, and right now he wanted nothing more than pretend that everything was fine. But he knew she would never let him.

“Sala…” He took a deep breath, bracing himself before he continued. “Emil is in the hospital.” Her eyes widened. “He’s got a punctured lung…” She gasped. “It’s not severe,” he reassured, “the doctor said he was very lucky. But he’s stuck in the hospital for at least another four days. I stayed with him until his coach could get there…” His voice broke and he fought the prickling sensation in his eyes. Sala stared at him, wide-eyed, her hand subtly trembling.

“What… what happened,” she finally managed to ask, and Michele wished he could lie to her.

“We… we went to the club. Bought drinks and talked and… and…” He met her gaze again. “W-we kissed. He kissed me and I… I kissed him back.” Searching for any sign of anger, of judgement in Sala’s eyes, he found only kindness, the familiar and safe sibling love that had always existed between them, and her grip tightened around his hand.

“And then I panicked,” he confessed, no longer able to look her in the eyes, regret and shame swirling like black tendrils around his heart, “I shoved him away, told him to get off me, told him it was… disgusting.” The salt stung in his eyes again. “I ran out and he followed me and…” He took a shaky breath.

“And then these guys must have seen it all happen, ‘cause they followed us and they… they started beating Emil. They beat him just because he kissed me! I’m the one who deserved to get beat up! I’m an idiot! I’m such an idiot, Sala! He didn’t deserve any of this…” Tears were flowing freely down his face, and he had trouble speaking.

“I thought… I thought I was going to lose him,” he sobbed, “all the blood… all that blood…” His voice finally gave in and as Sala wrapped her arms around him again, he fell apart into her lap. Her hands gently stroke his hair, rubbed soft circles on his shivering back.

“It’s OK, Mickey. It’s OK. None of you deserved this. You were just scared. It’s OK to be scared, Mickey. It’s OK. It’s OK,” she kept murmuring to him, her voice like warm milk and honey, balm for his raw and bruised spirit. He let her soothe him as he wept like he had never wept before, his shame and fear slowly seeping out with every drop of salt water.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is really short, but I'm making up for it by making the next chapter extra long and by giving you lots of fluff in this one.

Jaromír Nohavica sang “Mám Jizvu Na Rtu” from a speaker somewhere as Emil walked the familiar path through the tax free department at the airport. It felt good to be back in Prague, even if it was late and he was tired as his feet trudged towards the baggage claim on autopilot. He had been stuck in the hospital in Russia for a total of five days, and he had been itching to get out of there after the two first.

Michele had left while he was sleeping that first morning, but returned again later the same day, spending his last evening in Moscow at the hospital. Emil had been too tired and too drugged to keep a much of a conversation, but Michele never complained. Instead, he just sat by his side, updating him on the results from the women’s free skate and other relevant news, telling him fun facts about Naples and occasionally stroking his hair whenever Emil got too sleepy to talk. He didn’t remember the Italian leaving that night, so he must have fell asleep again by that time. What he _did_ remember however, quite vividly, was Michele leaning over him, careful not to put any pressure on his hurting hody, catching his gaze as they exchanged a smile. And what a smile Michele had! The creases at the corners of his mouth softening his usually stern and stoic face, and lighting up his beautiful eyes. And then he had gently pressed those plush lips against his in a tender, lingering kiss, before whispering ‘I’ll miss you’, nuzzling his nose. The memory of it sent delicious shivers down Emil’s spine and made him bite his lip to avoid grinning like an idiot.

After retrieving their suitcases (his coach insisting on hauling his off the baggage carousel for him so he wouldn’t upset his ribs or lung), Emil followed Mirek out to the arrivals hall, completely unprepared for what met him there. He blinked in disbelief at first, his brain working overtime to process it, and then he let out the breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.

Michele was wrapped up in his short wool coat, a scarf hanging around his neck, a backpack hanging off his shoulders. He was holding a take-away coffee cup from which he was about to take a sip when he spotted Emil. Forgetting his coffee, Michele instead shot one of those gorgeous smiles at him, and Emil’s heart skipped a beat. Someone shuffling behind him made him aware that he had stopped dead, and with a sheepish, lopsided grin, he moved forwards again, making his way towards the tanned, chestnut haired man sporting an amused expression. Shooting a quick glance at Mirek, he saw the coach try his best to look innocent, but the gleeful approval in his eyes told Emil that the older man had known about this all along. Turning back to Michele, he was still too flustered to find words, and the Italian used the silence to put the coffee cup on a nearby ledge, and stepped closer, right into Emil’s personal space. Sliding his arms around his waist, Michele drew him in for a gentle hug, not squeezing too hard in fear of hurting him. Feeling as though he had walked into a dream, Emil put his arms around the man embracing him, hugging him back.

“Mickey…” He drew a deep breath, nuzzling the tip of his nose into the chestnut hair, cherishing the smell of Michele’s shampoo and that scent that was uniquely his. “Mickey, what are you doing here?” He pulled back a little to allow him to look down into those violet eyes.

“Picking you up from the airport,” Michele stated as if him being in Prague, let alone meeting Emil at the airport, was the most natural thing in the entire world. A puzzled chuckle left Emil’s lips. He was delighted, of course, but confused, and Michele only gave him a smug smile before slipping away from Emil and walking over to the Czech coach, taking his hand affectionately.

“Thank you, Mirek. I really appreciate it. I couldn’t have done this without you.” Mirek dropped what looked like a set of keys into Michele’s other hand, further fuelling Emil’s confusion. He had no idea the two were on first name basis, but none of them seemed to be in any hurry to provide explanations, so he decided to be patient. His coach turned to him, squeezing his shoulder, looking up at him with that mild smile that somehow always made Emil feel safe.

“I will be calling to check up on you, so be sure to take care so that you can give me good news whenever I do,” Mirek said, and although he probably meant to sound strict, it only came across as affectionate. He gave Emil another squeeze and grabbed his suitcase to leave.

“Na shledanou,” he said, smiling and giving a small wave as he turned and walked off to the taxi stop.

They both waved back and Michele took Emil’s suitcase, heading towards the parking lot.

“Where are we going,” was all Emil managed to say.

“To the car,” Michele replied, smirking, throwing away the now empty paper cup into a bin.

“Ok, I am very confused and you are not helping. Why are you here? I mean, not that I’m complaining, but you’re the last person I expected to see today and now you’re here, picking me up at the airport and… What’s going on?”

“Oh my god, you look like a lost puppy,” Michele exclaimed and tousled his hair, grinning. “I’m here because I want to make sure that you heal alright now that you’re out of the hospital. I don’t want you to suddenly get worse again because you overexerted yourself or something, so I’m gonna look after you.” Emil had no words. Not a single one. He just stood there, mouth ajar, looking a Michele as if the other skater had just told him that dragons existed and and there was intelligent life on Mars.

“I mean… If that’s OK with you…” Worry spread on the Italian’s face.

“Emil…?”

“I… um… sorry,” he finally managed to mumble, “I’m just… No one has ever done something like this for me before. I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes. Say ‘Yes, Mickey, I’d love to have you stay at my place and look after me while I recover’. I may or may not have nowhere else to stay in Prague…” Michele blushed endearingly as he said those last words, fidgeting with the handle of the suitcase, and later in life when he looked back, Emil would always consider this the moment he went from being immensely infatuated with Michele to knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved him. He realised he had been crying, salty water clinging to his beard, but it was happy tears, so he didn’t care. He closed the distance between them and throwing his arms around Michele and hugged him as tightly as his ribs would allow.

“Yes. Yes, Mickey, please stay with me,” he whispered, his spirit soaring as Michele returned the embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Na shledanou = Czech for goodbye
> 
> And if any Czech folks are reading, please feel free to correct my Czech as I've only just started learning your beautiful language! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right! I promised a longer chapter and here it is. Also, smut.

Emil was impressed with Michele’s ability to navigate what turned out to be Mirek’s car from the airport to his flat, and before long the Italian was carrying his suitcase up all the stairs to his front door. Emil had tried to refuse his help, but Michele had simply given him one of those stern looks that left no room for arguments, and picked up the big suitcase. Instead Emil dug out his house keys as he reached the top of the stairs. Opening the door, he allowed his guest in first, painfully aware of the state he had left it in.

“I’m, uh, sorry about the mess,” he mumbled, embarrassment flaring up on his chest and cheeks, “I wasn’t exactly expecting guests,” he chuckled nervously. Michele just took in the place, putting the suitcase down, and turned around to him.

“Look, I’m the one who suddenly decided to impose on your hospitality without warning, so you have nothing to apologise for,” the brunette said with a genuine smile. “However… would you mind terribly if I helped you clean up?” As uncomfortable as the thought of a guest (and this guest in particular) cleaning up his mess made him feel, there was no way he could refuse those gorgeous eyes. When Michele had admitted to not having booked a hotel, the state of his flat had been the last thing on Emil’s mind. Michele would be living in his flat. In his flat! With him! His mind had been too occupied with daydreaming of everything they’d be doing together to think about anything practical until they were stood there, in the middle of his open plan kitchen/living room and all the mess he had made before he left was staring him in the face.

There were clothes scattered around on the couch and chairs. Piles of paper, books and notes for his school work littered the coffee table along with two empty, but used coffee mugs. Clean and dry dishes were stacked up on the kitchen counter, yet to be tidied away. His PS4 with all its cables cluttered the space in front of the tv along with two control pads and an empty pizza box. His guitar sat in the recliner facing them, as if judging him for leaving her out like that, the soft bag carelessly open on the floor. Emil billowed his cheeks before letting his breath out in a sigh.

“Help would be greatly appreciated,” he admitted at last. Together they managed to get the place to look presentable in less than an hour, and Michele insisted on making them coffee, despite it being very late, so Emil picked up the guitar still resting in the recliner, planning on putting her away.

“I didn’t know you played,” Michele said as he measured up ground coffee for the french press.

“I’m not very good,” Emil chuckled self-consciously, and Michele turned on the kettle before facing him.

“Would you play something for me?” Michele didn’t seem to care about what he had just said, and while Emil knew he would probably make a fool out of himself, the pleading look in those violet eyes left him helpless and incapable of anything but give in to their every wish. The kettle clicked, signaling that the water had boiled, and Michele poured it into the french press, bringing it and two mugs over to the table. He leaned back in the corner of the couch, and Emil sat down at the edge of the opposite corner. Guitar resting on his right knee, he wiped the thin layer of dust off the Taylor logo on the headstock before he started tuning her, the warm, thick bass of the E-string reverberating in the wooden body. Once she was tune, he started strumming her, absentmindedly plucking the strings with his fingers positioned in a G, then a C, another G, and another C, followed by an E minor, back to C and finally a D. Michele was watching him intently, and it made him nervous, but he tried not to think about it as he repeated the chords again.

 

* * *

 

Michele gazed at the young man in front of him, fascinated by the fingers gently plucking the steel strings of the acoustic guitar. He never knew Emil could play and, to someone like himself who only ever sang in church and didn’t know the first thing about musical instruments, he thought it sounded pretty good. And then Emil’s lips parted and he started singing, beautiful, warm notes of Czech words rippling softly off his tongue to mingle with the chords from the guitar.

“Byl pozdní večer první máj  
večerní máj byl lásky čas.  
Hrdliččin zval ku lásce hlas  
kde borový zaváněl háj.  
  
Pozdní večer  
lásky čas  
pozdní večer  
  
O lásce šeptal tichý mech  
kvetoucí strom lhal lásky žel.  
Svou lásku slavík růži pěl  
růžinu jevil vonný vzdech.  
  
Pozdní večer  
lásky čas  
pozdní večer  
  
nananánánánánáná..  
  
Byl pozdní večer  
první máj  
večerní máj byl lásky čas  
lásky čas  
lásky čas”

The sound of Emil’s voice died out before the lingering last note of the guitar, and Michele found himself wide eyed, mouth agape and cheeks wet with salt. He blinked and swallowed, trying to shake the fluttering feeling in his stomach, but then a pair of blue eyes met his and the fluttering seemed to increase.

“T-that was…” he started, but Emil cut him off.

“I know. I told you I’m not very good.” The blonde started to tuck his guitar into its soft case, and before he could stop himself, Michele got up and moved over to him. Kneeling by Emil’s side, he finally rediscovered how to use his vocabulary.

“No! You _are_ ! You’re _very_ good! That was beautiful!” He realised that he had put his right hand on Emil’s thigh and felt his face grow hot, but as he was about to remove it, Emil, his hands now free of the guitar, grabbed it before he could withdraw it. His breath hitched, and he noticed Emil’s breath was shaky.

“Michele…” The sound of his full name being spoken in the voice he had just been mesmerised by gave him goosebumps.

“Michele. I really want to kiss you… Can-” Michele didn’t let him finish his question, pressing his lips against Emil’s. He relished the warmth, the exhilaration that coursed through him as his lips parted and their tongues touched, tentatively at first, then hungrily. Fingers ran through his hair. The kiss deepened, growing almost desperate, and his right hand clutched the shirt of the young man before him. Emil leaned in, sliding his hands down Michele’s back and down to grab hold of his belt, pulling him up to straddle him. Could a heart beat so fast and hard it exploded in its owner’s chest? Michele suspected that might be a likely result as he felt Emil growing hard beneath him. His own body reacted instantly, and with the two of them being so flush against each other, there was no way that would go unnoticed. To his surprise however, Emil made no move other than to stroke his back and neck. Instead, the blonde reluctantly broke away from their kiss, breath heavy, cheeks flushed, and he looked up at Michele with those big, blue eyes.

“Are you OK? You know we can stop anytime you like, right?” Emil’s hand came up to cup his cheek. It felt hot against his face and he had no idea what he wanted. Part of him was telling him they had to stop, immediately, and preferable never touch each other again, but that part smelled of incense and shame, and its voice didn’t quite sound like his own anymore. The other part of him was a jumble of confusion mixed with fear, but also lust and need, and none of it made any sense. All he knew was that he wanted to taste Emil again, feel his lips, his tongue, the heat of his breath.

“I don’t want to stop… I just… I… I don’t know what I want.” He looked up at the blonde man he was straddling and swallowed hard. Emil just smiled at him and caressed his cheek with his thumb.  
  
“Then we can just keep kissing, and I’ll let you set the pace. If want us to do anything more than kissing, we can. If you don’t, we won’t.” Michele nodded, and not finding any words, he sought out Emil’s lips once more. This time, the reluctance he had felt at first was gone and he put his hands on the broad shoulders in front of him, gently pushing the other back against the couch and leaning in to follow him. Emil responded by pulling him close, hands on his back once again, and Michele felt his hips buck as the younger man briefly sucked his tongue. The movement caused a delicious friction which sent a jolt of pleasure through him, and the need to feel it again was so overwhelming that before he knew it, he was grinding down on Emil’s crotch. The latter groaned deeply into Michele’s mouth. They broke apart and Emil, panting heavily through parted lips, his eyes dark with lust, slid his hands to rest on Michele’s hips.

“Emil… ah… Emil… I need… touch me…”

“Where?”

“Anywhere!”

 

* * *

 

Emil wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information. The last thing he wanted was to do something wrong and make Michele panic, so he figured he’d just start slow and see where it went. He slid a hand underneath Michele’s shirt, his breath growing heavier as his fingers ran over toned abs and up towards Mickey’s pecs, his thumb finding and gently rubbing a nipple. The gasp it elicited delighted him.

“Like this? Is this OK?” Mickey just nodded, and he repeated the thumb movement again. Another gasp.

“Yes… M-more!” Retracting his hand, he started to unbutton Mickey’s shirt to allow him better access (and view). Pushing the shirt to either side, he took a moment to admire the toned, tanned torso in front of him, then he leaned forward and kissed the now erect nipple, drawing another gasp from Mickey’s mouth. He put his tongue to work, gently flicking the tip of it across and around the nipple, and felt fingers card through his hair, grasping tightly.

“Aaaah! Cavolo!” It sounded Italian and it was nearly shouted as Emil increased the tempo of his tongue work. The grip on his hair loosened, and he took the opportunity to look up into violet eyes now clouded with pleasure.

“Are you alright? Do you want me to continue?” Michele only moaned in response.

“Tell me what you want." The Italian's face was already flushed, but that made him go even redder. “Or if it’s easier, just show me,” Emil offered, and Michele met his gaze again with a look of desperation. Emil’s eyes went wide as the other skater started undoing the belt of his trousers, then unbuttoning and unzipping the fly. Something came over him as he watched Michele, and he grabbed hold of the older man, flipping him to the side, so that he was lying on his back on the couch, head resting on the pillow by the armrest. Not missing a beat, Michele, having found some fresh resolve in his state of arousal, pulled down both his trousers and his boxer briefs enough to reveal his erection, already glistening with precum. It was Emil’s turn to gasp.

“Mickey… Are you sur-”

“I want to feel you mouth around me.” Michele’s sudden directness had him stupefied for a split second, but as the shock passed, Emil was more than happy to oblige. He started by licking the entire length, paying a little extra attention as he reached the frenulum. It had Michele mewling, and he grinned as his tongue circled the head before his mouth closed around it. The sound that drew from his lover’s lips was exquisite and once again, fingers filtered through his blonde hair, grasping desperately. Emil let him slide into his mouth, taking his full length before pulling back again and starting to bob his head in a steady rhythm. Michele was moaning loudly and shaking beneath him, hips bucking up to meet his mouth.

He could tell the Italian was close, and the noises he was making, combined with having his mouth fucked was enough to send Emil over the edge. He never thought he’d ever feel this OK with coming in his trousers, groaning as Michele 's cock rubbed against his tongue and the back of his mouth. The vibrations of his groans seemed to do something for Michele too, because his breath turned almost frantic and he got a whole lot louder.

“Aaaahh! Cazzo! Ohh! Emil! I’m gonnnnnnngh!” The fist gripping his hair tightened as Emil felt Michele come into his mouth with a strained groan. He continued to stimulate him through it until his spasms yielded, swallowing his cum and licking him clean afterwards.

 

* * *

 

Michele didn’t have words to describe how it felt coming into Emil’s mouth. It was unlike any orgasm he had ever had, and looking down to see blue eyes filled with mischief as he licked him clean, he thought that this was worth going to hell for.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Emil sighed with a huge grin, gently tugging Michele’s boxer briefs and trousers back up. and for once the wave of shame that usually followed every orgasm, never quite reached his shore this time around. He grabbed hold of the other skater’s arms, pulling him down to rest on top of him. Emil smiled and hummed happily into his chest, closing his eyes. It only took a few moments before they were both fast asleep, the coffee on the table long forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Emil sings is an interpretation of Karel Hynek Mácha's poem "Máj" as done by the band Support Lesbiens (which is a really good band, so check them out on Spotify, and listen to their version of Máj, cause it's really beautiful). 
> 
> Cavolo translated directly from Italian means "cabbage", but it's used in Italian as an expression equivalent to "holy shit". Cazzo basically translates to "fuck".


	10. Chapter 10

Emil woke up trying to shift position only to find himself in the arms of an angel, or at least what he would consider the real world equivalent, gazing up at a sleeping Michele Crispino. The Italian was breathing steadily, his mouth slightly ajar, head tilted to the side, and Emil’s eye traced that gorgeous line from his clavicle up to his ear, wanting to kiss it, but holding back, not wanting to cross a line of unspoken consent or lack thereof. Memories of their earlier activities rushed into his head and it felt utterly unreal, as if it had just been some wet dream. The state of his underwear would support that theory, but Michele’s unbuttoned shirt, his undone trousers and the fact that Emil woke up in his arms, on top of him, between his legs, told a different story. Careful not to wake the other man, he slid out of the embrace, sitting up in the couch.

The coffee in the french press was lukewarm, indicating that he had only been out for a short time, meaning it was probably around 2am. However, his head was brimming with thoughts and feelings, making him feel too awake to go back to sleep. Michele had traveled all the way to Prague to stay with him while he recovered from his injuries. They had kissed. They’d had sex. They had fallen asleep in eachother’s arms. And still, Emil had no idea where they stood, what this thing between them was. Were they just friends with benefits? Lovers? Boyfriends? Or was all of this something that would become a stain of regret between them? Did Michele want more? Did he want less? _Why can’t I just enjoy what I’m having right now? Why do I always feel like there will be some sort of price to pay further down the line?_

His hand absentmindedly trailed up to his still aching ribs, and summoned the smell of cigarettes and alcohol and clenched fists. He gritted his teeth and he let out a strained breath through his nose as he glanced over at the man sleeping peacefully beside him on the couch.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, “and you deserve so much better.” He sighed and stood up, picked up the french press and walked over to the kitchen counter.

 

* * *

  


Michele felt like he had a hangover, even though he had been sober all day. Emil’s murmured words felt like acid burning through him, the bitterness in them searing his heart. He knew he was not meant to have heard them, that Emil thought he had been asleep. To be fair, he _had_ been half asleep at first, but those words had woken him up like an alarm clock. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet, they felt heavy and crusty with sleep. He heard Emil get off the couch, the sound of his footsteps moving away from him. It left him cold, missing the heat of Emil’s body against his. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and saw Emil stand by the kitchen counter, pouring cold coffee into the sink. It was such a mundane thing and yet, the way his body hunched, the reluctance in his movements, made it feel like he was pouring out his hopes and dreams rather than coffee. The drain seemed to groan.

“Emil…” Michele had left the couch and was standing close enough to touch him if he reached out. Emil lifted his head, but didn’t turn around to face him. His shoulders were shaking ever so slightly as they heaved in time with his breath.

“Why are you here, Michele?” The voice coming from the tall blonde was raw, vulnerable.

“I told you, Emil. To look after you, to help yo-”

“But _why_? Is it… Is it because you feel responsible for what happened? Cause you’re not, and you don’t need to feel like you have to do this.”

“No… Emil, I…” Michele took a small step closer. He had been able to float on the excitement of the moment, on things unspoken, feelings left unaddressed. It had felt harmless and safe to not have to commit, to leave everything vague. But watching the way Emil trembled, the hurt in his voice, Michele realised it wasn’t harmless. He had been so ignorant, so _dense_ , so blind to the way his actions, or lack thereof, had made Emil feel.

He took another step. And another, leaving him close enough to hear the restrained sob on Emil’s breath. Reaching out to touch him, Michele stopped himself, deciding not to. Instead he started to speak.

“I’m here because I care about you. Because I want to be with you. Because I want us to be together. Because I…” He hesitated. Was that incense? Emil’s words stung in his heart again. _I don’t deserve you._ His hesitation evaporated. No more unspoken things. No more feelings left unaddressed.

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

He was shaking, his pulse frantic. Emil turned around, tears falling silently from his blue eyes. All Michele could think of was how much he wanted to wipe those tears away. So he did. And Emil let him, his chin leaning into the touch. Michele slid his hand behind the other’s neck, and standing on his toes, leaned up to kiss him. Emil met him halfway, kissing him back. It was a chaste kiss, lips pressed together, stripped of lust, but filled with so much more. Then it was over. Their foreheads met, their noses nuzzling, both relishing the feel of the other’s breath against their face.

“So, Emil… Why don’t you have a shower, and we can get ready for bed? I don’t know about you, but I’m really tired, and I want to snuggle up with my boyfriend.” Emil looked gobsmacked, jaw dropping, eyes wide. Michele couldn’t help but think of a puppy that had been put in a room full of treats, too overwhelmed with to know how to react. The Italian felt his cheeks flush, but tried to keep his cool as he took advantage of the other’s speechlessness.

“What? You said ‘tell me what you want’. I assumed that counted for more than just sex.” This time it was Czech’s turn to blush, and Michele fought to suppress a smirk. The big grin on the former’s face made it too hard a fight to win, however, and the smirk turned into a toothy smile. Emil gave him another kiss, before dragging him along to the bathroom.

They brushed their teeth and while Emil took a quick shower, Michele went into the bedroom. The room was sparse in furniture, just a king sized bed, a wardrobe and drawer section, but the walls were filled with various posters, pictures and medals from competitions Emil had won. He spotted a picture of the two of them from the year before and he felt a tightness in his chest. He remembered that moment. He had been in the middle of a discussion with JJ when Emil came over and flung his arm around him the way he often would. He had gotten used to it at that point and didn’t think much of it then, ignoring it and continuing his conversation. In the picture he looked like he was just about to say something. But Emil… Emil was looking at him with such fondness, such admiration, as if the sun radiated out of him. To think that Emil had regarded himself undeserving of him. _If anything, I don’t deserve him. Not when I’ve been so utterly blind to his affection..._

He made himself a promise to make up for his ignorance in the days to come, and started to undress down to his boxer briefs, crawling in under the duvet. They’d have to get an extra pillow, he noted, but the one Emil had was gigantic, so it would suffice for the both of them for one night.

Emil entered the room with a towel around his waist, his chest still damp. Michele looked at him, really _looked_ at him, drinking the sight of his strong body, his broad chest, his abs, his arms. He was built like a roman sculpture, one who swiftly grabbed fresh underwear from a drawer and put them on, back still turned to Michele, flashing a _very nice_ ass, before joining him under the duvet. Michele’s heart was positively pounding.

 

* * *

  


Michele was in his bed. In _his_ bed! And he had called him his _boyfriend_ ! Emil had never been more nervous and happy at the same time. He was about to snuggle up in _his_ bed with his _boyfriend_! Slinking in under the duvet beside said boyfriend, he felt like the luckiest person in the world. However, when Michele put his head on Emil’s shoulder, his body flush against Emil’s side, his arm across Emil’s waist, and he thought he might die from the euphoria. He turned his head and kissed his boyfriend’s forehead. Michele responded by giving him a squeeze, and he was still smiling when he fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

The room was nippy, but there were warm tendrils of sunlight seeping in through the gap between the curtains to embellish the duvet with gold. Lashes fluttered over violet eyes, and Michele yawned leisurely, tugging said duvet a little closer. Slowly, he became aware of the press of a warm body against his back, a strong arm around his waist, a soft breath on his neck. A few weeks ago, waking up in this sort of predicament would have freaked him out, made him spring out of bed and thrown all sorts of insults to distance himself from it, to compensate for the immense guilt and insecurity which still to some extent welled up in him. Today was different. Yes, the guilt and insecurities hung around him like a cloud of incense, but the fluttering in his belly, the delicious goosebumps forming on his skin under Emil’s breath, and the indescribable feeling of safety and comfort that warm, strong body provided; it all but drowned those stale and toxic feelings. It felt like a spring clean of a poorly ventilated room long left unattended. It made him feel brave and adventurous.

Emil stirred softly beside him, burying his nose in chestnut coloured hair. He mumbled something, so groggily Michele couldn’t make out much of it other than the fact that it was in Czech. Turning his head around to look at the man beside him, blonde hair a wild mess, eyes still closed, he had to smile. Emil’s breath was still heavy and he was clearly still half asleep, but other parts of his body seemed to be very much awake, as proved by the hardness pressed against Michele’s lower back. That alone was enough to make his own body react, and when Emil’s arm tugged at his chest to draw him closer as he nuzzled the crook of Michele’s neck with a hoarse ‘g’morning’, he couldn’t stop the moan from escaping his lips. He could literally feel a grin spread on Emil’s face.

“And a very good morning, too, it seems,” the Czech whispered cheekily, nibbling lightly at Michele’s ear, making the Italian’s breath hitch. Calloused fingers sought out his nipples while a tongue played with his earlobe. He reached behind him, grasping Emil’s thigh, making small sounds of approval and whispered affirmatives in both Italian and English. Feeling bold, he slithered his hand from Emil’s thigh to his crotch, fingers closing around a generous erection. A gasp, followed closely by a groan was his reward, and he reveled in the satisfaction those sounds gave him.

“I want you,” he moaned, pushing the last remnants of shame and guilt aside in his head, and Emil’s hand slid down from his chest to follow the trail of hairs below his navel. His touch was feather light as he caressed his length, teasing, drawing desperate whimpers from Michele’s lips.

“Emil… More…” Emil’s breath was heavy in his ear when he finally gave him what he wanted, fingers clasping firmly around him. Michele’s eyes rolled back as he cried out, and he felt his boyfriend harden even more in his hand. _How would it feel to have him inside me?_ The thought took him by surprise. He had wanted to try with his fingers before, but shame and fear that he might actually like it had stopped him. But once he had thought it, the idea refused to leave his head.

“Emil, I want you! I want you… inside me.” The hand around his cock stopped moving.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… I want to try.” There was a pause before Emil replied.

“I really should have asked this yesterday, but… have you been tested?”

“Tested?” Michele turned around to look into those blue eyes, and when he did, it was like some sort of realisation washed over them.

“Mickey, have you… done it before?” Emil’s question made him blush and look away.

“Mickey?” The Italian swallowed thickly and the younger man studied his face.

“Michele? Have you ever had sex with a guy?” Michele shook his head, avoiding the blue eyes trying to catch his gaze.

“Have you… have you had sex before at all? Like, before last night?” The prickling sensation of Michele’s face made him convinced he must have turned a deep shade of crimson.

“No,” he whispered, and a new kind of shame washed over him.

“Hey… Hey! It’s fine. It’s nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. I don’t really care. I wasn’t asking to make you feel bad or dig into your past. It’s just that I should have asked about your results yesterday, and shown you mine, but I was so tired and I… got a bit carried away. I’ve been kicking myself about it. But seeing as you’ve never… I’ve got mine from just before Rostelecom in the drawer if you want to see them. Mickey?” Michele was the picture of confusion and embarrassment.

“Results?”

“You know, test results. From getting tested. To check for STIs. Safe sex and all that.” Michele finally understood, and felt even more inexperienced, uttering a small ‘oh’.

“Mickey, look at me,” Emil pleaded and cupped his face.

“I know there’s all this stupid stigma about not having had sex, especially as a guy, but I really don’t care. It doesn’t change the way I think about you. It doesn’t make you less sexy or attractive. It seriously makes no difference to me. The only thing that matters to me is that you’re not doing anything you’re not comfortable with, and that we’re both safe and healthy. I was an idiot for not bringing this up earlier. Sorry.” Blonde locks of hair fell over blue eyes, and a tanned hand reach out to brush them away. Emil’s words had made him feel a lot better. Safe. Somehow the Czech seemed to have that effect on him.

“You don’t need to apologise. So… should I get, uhm, tested,” Michele asked awkwardly and Emil sat up a little in the bed, adjusting their pillow to support his back as he leaned up against the wall. Michele joined him.

“Well, basically, if you’ve never had sexual intercourse and never had genital skin-to-skin contact, then you’re good,” the blonde explained, looking over at him. Michele nodded solemnly.

“Ok, so I’m good,” he concluded, and blushed again as their eyes met, still feeling awkward, but Emil just gave him a reassuring smile.

“And my results were all negative, which means we’re both good,” Emil said, leaning in to kiss him, and Michele didn’t waste any time capturing his lips.

“So… does that mean we can… have sex now,” Michele asked and immediately bit his lip, wondering if he should have just shut up, if the mood had been spoiled. The hungry look in those blue eyes evaporated every doubt, however, and he felt a smirk tug in the corners of his mouth.

“Let me fetch the lube,” Emil said grinning.

“Lube?!”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this is mostly smut. If that's not your thing, consider yourself warned.
> 
> Also, this is completely unbeta'ed, so please feel free to point out any grammatical errors so I can fix them!
> 
> Artwork by me. Full size can be viewed [here.](http://ingridbeast.tumblr.com/post/165658379652/taste-of-you-emil-nekola-and-michele-crispino)  
> Please do not repost elsewhere or use without my permission.

A pack of condoms and a tube of water based lubricant was tossed on the bed, and a pair of violet eyes looked up at him filled with uncertainty.

“Seriously, though, what’s with the lube,” Michele asked, sounding very apprehensive.

“Oh, uhm… I thought you were joking,” Emil responded, suddenly feeling like a weight of responsibility had been thrown onto his shoulders. He thought back to his first time experimenting, and how he’d done a huge amount of research about it when he realised he was into guys, devouring all the articles he could come across before he actually dare to do anything. And when he did, it was on his own, without the pressure of someone else to consider. Michele seemed to be completely inexperienced and lacking a lot of knowledge about sex beyond the very, very basic stuff, and it made Emil feel rather nervous, but he took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves.

“Well, basically, you need lube because your ass doesn’t produce any of its own lubricant the way a vagina does. If you don’t use lube, you risk being in a lot of pain and potentially causing damage to the skin tissue, and, well, that kind of takes the fun out of it.” He felt like some sort of sex ed teacher, but Michele seemed to be listening intently, even though his cheeks were bright red.

“So, does it hurt, then,” he asked, biting his lower lip.

“Not really, as long as you prepare properly, and take it slow. It can be a little uncomfortable and… strange, I guess, at first. Especially when you’re new to it. But in my experience, if it hurts, then you’re going too fast.” He looked at Michele who had taken to studying the spot where the condoms and the lube had landed. He scooted over to where his boyfriend was sitting on the bed and sat down beside him, gently lifting his tanned chin.

“Mickey? We don’t have to do anything. I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing something you don’t want to do. I’m fine either way.” Michele looked up at him, and he was surprised to see those striking, violet eyes filled with lust.

“I want to try. I mean, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to… uh… take _you_ yet, but… I want to know what it feels like.” He tilted his head up towards Emil’s, his lips parting, inviting him to kiss him. Emil happily accepted the invitation, their tongues dancing playfully around each other even before their lips connected. Emil slid his hand behind Michele’s neck and let his lips trail down his cheek, stopping to nibble on his earlobe before continuing further down. His lover shuddered as Emil slowly licked the sensitive skin on his neck, summoning goosebumps all the way down his toned, tanned arms.

“Emil…” Michele’s voice was no more than a whispered sigh, and the blonde continued his journey down towards his lover’s nipples, circling his tongue around it. The brunette was mewling, his breath hitching as Emil’s tongue finally flicked across the hardened bud. The latter switched his attention to the other nipple, replacing his tongue with fingers on the first, and Michele groaned, his back arching and his head tilting backwards. His other hand still behind Michele’s neck, Emil lowered his boyfriend down on the bed, making sure he was positioned comfortably against the huge pillow, before he contitnued his attention to Michele’s nipples. The man beneath him was squirming, desperate noises slipping from his lips, and the Czech grinned contently, moving away from the nipples, his tongue trailing down firm abs.

He felt fingers card through his hair as he placed a wet kiss on Michele’s left hip, hooking fingers at the waistband of his boxer briefs. He tugged them down, Michele lifting his hips to allow him to slide them off and discard them. Making a path of open mouth kisses and licks down the inside of Michele’s left thigh, Emil bent Michele’s leg, pushing said thigh upwards to grant him better access to Michele’s now very prominent erection. Very slowly, his mouth made its way towards Michele’s cock, and the Italian nearly shouted as he flicked the tip of his tongue over the head. He teased him a little bit, circling his tongue around him, before he finally put the whimpering man out of his misery and slid the cock into his mouth. The fingers in his hair tightened their grip, and he let his boyfriend fuck his mouth, loving the sensation of the hard member rubbing against his tongue once again. Emil had been blessed with pretty good control of his gag reflex, and he managed to take him all the way down to the hilt. He could hear the Italian’s breath getting shallow, though, and firmly pulled away.

 

* * *

 

 Michele made a disapproving noise mourning the loss Emil’s mouth around him, giving him pleasure beyond any handjob he had ever given himself. He was about to complain when he saw Emil lean over and pick up the lube.

“You still want this?” Blue eyes met his, awaiting permission to proceed. There were too manhy butterflies in his stomach for him to manage anything but an enthusiastic nod. A lopsided grin spread on the blonde’s face, and he popped the cap of the lube, squeezing out a liberal amount onto his index and middle finger.

“This is going to feel a little cold and possible a little strange. Just promise me that you’ll let me know if you’re in pain at any point, OK?” Michele nodded again, and let out an undignified yelp as he felt something cold brush against his tight entrance and felt his face flush. Emil just rubbed gentle circles around it, occasionally putting a little pressure on it, and after a few moments, Michele relaxed. Slowly, the pressure against him increased, and he gasped a little as the tip of Emil’s finger entered him, stopping just as he was about to ask him to.

“You OK?”

“Y-yes. I think so. But I think I need a moment.”

“Of course. Just breathe. Try to relax. Take deep breaths. Tell me if you want me to go on. Or if you want me to stop.” The sound of Emil’s voice, the concern in his face, made Michele feel less anxious, and he did as Emil had told him, breathing in deep, trying to relax. A few more moments passed, and he felt as though his body had adjusted.

“I-I think you can continue,” he said, and Emil gave him a warm smile and nodded, adding a little more lube, before pushing in a little bit more. It still felt odd, but it wasn’t painful, and Michele focused on taking deep breaths. He felt the finger very slowly pull a little out, before pushing slowly in again, this time a little further. _Deep breath._ He felt the knuckles of Emil’s hand against his taint, and Emil stopped to let him adjust, for which he was thankful. While he waited for Michele to signal him to continue, Emil placed wet kissed on his thigh, and let the fingers of his free hand ghost over his cock. He bit his lower lip to stop a moan as the fingers closed around him, very gently moving up and down. He focused on the delicious feeling and his breath, his cheeks flushing up again, and nodded for Emil to continue. Still moving almost excruciatingly slow, Emil pulled the finger out almost halfway, and pushed it in again. As he was about to repeat that movement, he crooked his finger slightly, pushing gently upwards, and Michele’s eyes widened.

It was the weirdest sensation he had ever experience, and quite overwhelming, making him let out a high pitched gasp. Emil’s finger pulled back again, still moving very slowly, and still crooked upwards, dragging friction against that particular spot, his other hand still moving over his cock. He felt his eyes roll back in his head and his hands fist the sheets, a guttural groan rolling out of his mouth.

Seeing the man he had been in love with for so long fall apart beneath him was intoxicating and he felt like he could do this all day. He felt Michele’s muscles tighten around as the finger inside him dragged slowly across his prostate. He pushed the finger in again at the same, slow pace, repeating the motion, and Michele moaned loudly.

 

* * *

 

 “M-more! Oooooh! Nnnnggh!” Emil increased the pace, but only a little. He didn’t want to risk hurting Michele on his first time. Instead he increased the speed of the hand clutched around his boyfriend’s cock. That had the Italian shudder and squirm, gasp and what he could only assume to be Italian swear words rolling off each breath he uttered. Said breath gradually got shallower, and, feeling Michele push his ass down to meet the knuckle of his hand, he dared to up the pace the tiniest bit again, now going at very leisurely speed, constantly stimulating that tender spot. He felt the brunette’s tense up, his groans devolving into a long, dragged scream, and muscles clamped down on Emil’s finger as cum spilled over his hand, painting Michele’s torso.

 

As Michele came down from his high, the haze of post-orgasmic afterglow in his violet eyes, Emil carefully slipped his finger out. Michele gasped a little, but smiled lazily at him, and Emil’s heart swelled. He got off the bed to fetch some tissue from the Kleenex box on top of the drawer section, and wiped his finger. Looking back, he grabbed the whole box and brought it back to bed, beginning to clean up the mess on Michele’s chest and stomach.

“Emil.” Michele grabbed his wrist, and  tugging for him to move closer. Emil lay down beside him, and the other skater snuggled up next to him, head resting on his arm.

“That was incredible… I’ve… I’ve never experienced anything like it…” Emil played with his chestnut hair and kissed his forehead. He still had a raging hard-on, but all he could think of was how beautiful Michele was, how his violet eyes looked like galaxies, gazing up at him.

“I’m glad. I’m glad I could do that for you, that you enjoyed it,” he murmured, smiling tenderly down at him.

“Thank you for making me feel safe,” Michele whispered back, and his entire body felt flooded with intense joy. He grinned widely and gave Michele a squeeze. The latter smiled back and bit his lip. “I wanna make you come.” Emil just stared at him with wide eyes.

“What? It’s only fair. You’ve taken so good care of me. I want to take care of you too,” he insisted, sitting up and leaning over him to capture his lips. The kiss was over too quickly, leaving Emil starved for more. Instead, he felt Michele copy the trail Emil had made on him earlier, nibbling his earlobe, licking his way down his neck, before finally reaching his nipples. Unlike Emil, Michele wasted no time on teasing, and went straight for it, leaving him panting and moaning desperately, adrenaline rushing through him. He watched as if in a trance as his lover slid a hand down to cup the bulge straining his boxer briefs and groaned loudly as the hand started rubbing him. The tongue disappeared from his nipple, as Michele sat up again and began tugging at the waistband of his underwear. He lifted his lowed body to let him pull them off, allowing his cock to spring free.

“Cavolo! You’re huge!” Michele’s eye were wide and his jaw was slack, and Emil blushed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. His boyfriend didn’t seem to care and gently ran his fingers across the offending member, making the hairs on Emil’s entire body stand on edge and his hips buck. Michele smirked. He let his fingers close around Emil’s cock, and leaned down, licking the head.

“Aaaaah!” He couldn’t stop himself from shouting, and Michele looked immensely pleased with himself, repeating the action once more. And again. And again, until his tongue was flicking furiously over his frenulum and lapping up the beading of precum.

“Aaaaah! Mickey! Prosím! Prosím!” Emil could feel the build-up pooling in his abdomen, and his eyes flew wide open as Michele’s mouth closed around him, taking in as much of him as he could. His head started bobbing, sliding him in and out, his hand working up the part of the shaft he couldn’t fit in his mouth. Emil felt his entire body tense up.

“Mickey! I’m gonna come,” he cried, but Michele ignored him and continued, tilting his head up ever so slightly to meet his gaze. Seeing the love of his life sucking his cock and looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes was too much.

“Mickey! Oh my god, Mickey! Aaaahnnnnngggh!” He came with a growl, shooting his load into Michele’s mouth, little stars filling his peripheral vision, beads of sweat trickling down from his temples. He felt lightheaded, like he was about to faint.

 

* * *

 

 Michele felt a warm liquid fill his mouth. It wasn’t directly unpleasant tasting, but had a slightly bitter tang to it, and he did his best to just swallow it, the way he remembered seeing Emil do. A little bit dribbled out of his mouth, and he grabbed a tissue to wipe it off.

Looking up, Emil looked utterly undone, panting through parted lips, his eyes rolled back under fluttering eyelids, and he felt pride well up inside him, knowing he was the cause of it. Crawling up to join the blonde, he snuggled back into Emil’s armpit, caressing his chest with featherlight fingers. Emil leaned over, too exhausted to speak, but the look in his eyes spoke more than he could ever have said with words, and was everything Michele wanted. He grinned, flashing his teeth, and kissed Emil’s nose.

“I could get used to seeing you like that,” Michele whispered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! Last week suddenly got rather busy. I hope you enjoy it even if it's not as long as I had hoped it would be.

Coffee had never tasted that good. Emil clutched the hot mug, enjoying the tingling heat it emitted. His thumb absentmindedly ran across the little chip on the rim opposite the handle. It was his favourite mug, one given to him by his grandmother one Christmas, back then filled with mini marshmallows and a sachet of hot chocolate powder. The mug was blue and was once adorned with silver stars. The stars had faded over the years, now only faint ghosts of what they had been, but the mug still sported its royal blue colour, and it always reminded Emil of soft hugs, wrinkled smiles and an wet dog kisses from Auto the Terrier. Why anyone would name their dog “car” had always been a mystery to him as a child, but now that he was older, he could see his grandmother's sense of humour in the prospect of telling people that she needed to take her little car for a walk. He smiled to himself. They were both long dead, and at times he still missed them terribly.

They had been a safe haven growing up, away from her son-in-law, of whom she had greatly disapproved, and only grudgingly tolerated. Sometimes, Emil wondered if his mother had stayed with his father out of spite against his grandmother, like some sort of belated rebellious-daughter-phase, but his grandmother passed away, and his mother never left.

Instead she stayed, and the older Emil grew, the more punches were directed against him instead of her.

He didn’t remember letting go of the mug to softly rub at that sore spot below his pecs.

 

* * *

 

 A tightness filled Michele’s chest whenever he saw Emil’s hand drift across his broken ribs, which seemed to coincide with the Czech’s mind drifting off. He hadn’t spoken about what Mirek had said. He didn’t know how to approach the topic. But he had noticed the scars on Emil’s body. While some could be attributed to skating injuries and other extreme sports, there were others which were dubiously similar to cigarette burns, and small cuts in places which seemed too awkward for an accident, but would make sense if someone had taken something sharp to his skin with full intent. His nose had without doubt been broken at one point, a faint scar on the ever so slightly crooked ridge, and he had found the scar from a cut and stitches on Emil’s scalp, an inch or two above where his hairline stopped at the back of his neck. He had shuddered at the thought then, and still did.

He could ask about the scars, but if he hadn’t known the things he knew, he would have had no reason to neither look for them or notice them. It would be too obvious. So, instead, he had made Emil coffee, then proceeded to whip up some pancakes for the both of them as a late breakfast. He slid the last pancake onto the tray and carried it to the little kitchen table by the window. Placing the tray on the table, he sat down across from the younger man, still lost in thoughts.

“Earth to Emil,” Michele teased. Emil blinked and looked at him, doing a little shake of his head as if to bring his mind back to reality, his fringe falling into his eyes. He attempted to blow it away, but only succeeded in making more strands fall down. It looked unbelievably adorable and Michele’s heart swelled.

 

* * *

 

 The sound filling the room was the most beautiful sound Emil had heard in years. Michele’s laughter was hearty and full as it rolled off his lips, and it made all the stars in his galaxy eyes sparkle. Before he could stop himself, the young Czech had leaned across the table, placing a loving peck on Michele’s cheek. The latter looked confused, but delighted.

“What was that?”

“I just couldn’t stop myself. You have the most wonderful laughter I’ve ever heard and it makes me wanna give you all the kisses in the world!” Emil could feel his cheeks flush, but he grinned all the same. A flattering blush dusted Michele’s cheeks too, and he suddenly looked a little awkward, not quite knowing where to rest his gaze.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. No one’s ever told me anything like that before,” he said quietly. “Thank you.” His head tilted back up, and Emil rediscovered those gorgeous galaxies again, reaching his hand out to cup Michele’s face.

“Then I’ll just have to make sure you hear something like that every day,” Emil promised and Michele laughed again.

A phone buzzed, and Emil looked over at his, picking it up.

“Sorry, I gotta answer this,” he apologised.

 

* * *

 

 Michele nodded and watched Emil turn his body a little bit to the side as he pressed the green icon on the screen. He didn’t know much Czech, other than “yes, wine please” (“ano, víno prosím”), as that was all he could remember of the phrases Mirek had attempted to teach him.

“Čau, Matěj! Není špatné. A vy? Ano. Ano. Mhm. To je v pořádku. Ano. OK. Ahoj.” Turning back to face him, Emil put the phone back down. All Michele had caught were a few yes-es (no mention of wine).

“That was Matěj, my little brother.” There was something in Emil’s face which he couldn’t read.

“He’s coming over tonight with my extra set of keys. He’s been popping by to check on the plants”, Emil said, indicating towards the two cacti in the window sill and a surprisingly well-kept Clusia by the television. Michele almost felt a little bad for assuming the latter had been a plastic plant.

“Will he stay for dinner? I’d love to get to know him.” Emil shrugged.

“I’ll text him and ask,” the Czech added, smiling at the older man across from him, “I think you’ll like Matěj. And I think he’ll like you.” A pale hand reached out to cover Michele’s tanned one, slowly threading fingers between his. Such a small thing, but it made the Italian’s insides flutter. He gazed dreamily into the other’s eyes, thinking how they reminded him both of Caribbean seas and glacial water, how Emil was both summer and winter in one, but only the brightest, most beautiful aspects of each. Emil was cool breezes on summer days; hot chocolate after building snowmen in winter; he was temperate waves of crystal clear salt water lapping at feet sore from a whole day of volleyball at the beach; and the beams of sun shimmering like fairy dust in the snow covered ski slopes of the Alpes.

“What?” Emil suddenly looked a little self-conscious, but Michele just found it endearing.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, picking up the hand holding his, kissing the back of it. Emil blushed.

“Look who’s talking,” the Czech shot back with a grin, and Michele reached out to touch his face, fingers running lightly over a bearded jaw.

 

* * *

 

Having Michele touch him like that, with such tenderness and affection, did all kinds of pleasant things to Emil. Goosebumps formed on his skin, about a thousand butterflies simultaneously burst into flight inside him, and a giddiness crept into his head, while a blood rushed to his cheeks, ears and chest. He felt like he might burst out of happiness! Catching the other skater's hand before it withdrew, he adorned it with kisses, tracing the lines in its palm with his lips. Michele gasped, lips parted, and leaned over the small table to kiss him. Just a soft connection, lips gently pressed together, noses nuzzling. One tingling moment, and then it passed. But it was perfect, and looking into his favourite galaxies in all the world, Emil knew he wanted to have this for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Čau, Matěj! Není špatné. A vy? Ano. Ano. Mhm. To je v pořádku. Ano. OK. Ahoj. =   
> Hi, Matěj! Not bad. And you? Yes. Yes. Mhm. That's fine. Yes. Ok. Bye.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken so long, and that this chapter is so short! I've been working on it sporadically in between other obligations, and I will most likely be doing the same with the next chapter as my life has gotten increasingly busy of late. I'm committed to finishing this fic, though, even if it might be longer between updates than it was in the beginning.

It had been a busy day. Well, it had been a busy day for Michele. Emil had to contact his doctor to set a follow-up appointment, but other than that, Michele had instructed him to do as little as possible, insisting on taking care of any practicalities for him. The Italian had reluctantly let him come along to buy another pillow and even take it back home when they finally found one. Meanwhile, Michele headed off to a supermarket to shop groceries to fill the nigh empty cupboards and the fridge. Once he was back at Emil’s, he started cooking.

Emil had been right, Michele liked Matěj Nekola. His boyfriend’s fourteen year old little brother was not only well-mannered and impressively eloquent in English, but he had a dry sense of humour the Italian could appreciate and mild, calm demeanour, much unlike his energetic big brother. Matěj did, however, share his brother’s smile and blue eyes, although his were more of a brilliant turquoise, than Emil’s sky blues. Michele had made them all Melanzane alla Parmigiana after his mother’s recipe, and the flow of the conversation during the meal had been relaxed and pleasant, full of laughter and smiles. After they had finished eating, Matěj had immediately gotten up to help Michele tidy up, whilst both of them ordered Emil to sit down in the couch. He had managed to compromise with them that he would set up the the PS4 so they could play Tricky Towers afterwards.

Michele and Matěj worked seamlessly as a team, the teenager eagerly following his elder’s lead. They were halfway through the dishes when the boy lowered his voice as he leaned a little closer to Michele.

“So, are you two an item now?” Michele was taken completely off-guard by the bluntness of Matěj’s question, and blinked.

“Huh?” It was hardly a very sufficient reply, but it was all he could get out.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious that you like each other from the looks you exchange and stuff, and,” the young Czech lowered his voice further, to barely a whisper, “Emil talks about you all the time. Like, _all_ the time!” Mr. Crispino was serving lobster realness.

“Which is understandable,” Matěj continued, his voice a fraction louder, “because you’re really cool! I guess I would just really like it if you were his boyfriend now.” The boy grinned at him with a sincerity that made Michele almost speechless. He had never expected Emil’s little brother to be so completely and utterly comfortable with the two of them being an item, and relief washed over him, clearing away his anxiety like the water from the tap washing the suds off the dinner plates. Stealing a glance over his shoulder he caught Emil looking at them with a content smile on his lips.

 

* * *

 

When Matěj was born, Emil had cried. Not out of anger or sadness that all attention had suddenly been ripped away from himself and thoroughly settled on the tiny, new human being in his mother’s arms. No, Emil cried because he was told his four-year-old frame would not be strong enough to hold his little brother safely. He had made no fuss about it, he knew that would mean getting acquainted with his father’s belt, but he couldn't stop the silent tears trickling down his face. He had wanted so dearly to smell Matěj’s skin, look at his big eyes and feel the weight of him against him. He didn't really understand why, it was just this odd need tugging inside him, telling him it was important, a need to protect and care for this small person.

He had watched as his aunt took the baby off his exhausted mother, cooing and fussing over the little bundle and tried to subdue sniffles and steady his breath, when warm hands picked him up and sat him down into a lap, surrounding him with the scent of dog, lavender soap and coffee. His grandmother hugged him gently and wiped the tears from his face, before she instructed his aunt to let Emil hold the baby, assuring them all she would make sure it was perfectly safe for him to do so.

It was one of those moments that Emil would remember for the rest of his life, Matěj’s fragile frame warm against his chest, his little fingers opening and clutching around air, the little baby noises he made, and that soft smell of his skin, and the big wide eyes filled with perpetual wonder. His heart had skipped and he knew instantly that he'd give his life for the tiny boy in his embrace. Looking at his brother all grown into a tall teenager, Emil knew in his bones that he still would.

“Have you set everything up, bratříčku?” Matěj’s voice tugged him out of his reverie, and the gentle smile already on his face widened into a grin.

“Yup! Get ready to have your ass handed to you, Michele. Matěj takes no prisoners,” he chuckled, and was surprised to see his boyfriend smirk back at him.

“Good thing we’re teaming up against you, then,” Michele shot back, and Emil gawked as his little brother and his boyfriend exchanged a high five. This would be an evening of many swallowed camels, he suspected as he tossed the other controller to Matěj. The shit-eating grin the latter gave him only increased his suspicions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bratříčku = brother


End file.
